


Sharp Instruments

by gordafarid



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bloodplay, Consensual Kink, Consensual Violence, Cutting, F/M, Genital Torture, Mutilation, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gordafarid/pseuds/gordafarid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ada's proof to Vincent they are not just dollies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Instruments

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rinhail on dreamwidth. Happy Belated Holidays.

“Why do you cut them up?” Ada asked some days after his life had become hers.

“Hm?” Vincent raised an eyebrow but didn’t push himself up from his supine position on the bed. Now with no secrets he didn’t present himself in his rigid façade. He let his true exhaustion show, every vertical surface was a place for repose. Ada had wished to free him, but she knew the burden wouldn’t simply vanish. It must be removed by inches. Too fast and the sudden force of crushing gravity would kill him.

She sat at his waist on the bed. He tensed in response. She was uncertain if his insecurity was rooted in his fear of her, or himself. She after all had asked him to give up everything he had ever known, the most terrifying thing anyone could do. She smiled as her freshly cut hair brushed her chin. He didn’t return it. She felt she preferred his renewed look of subtle horror over his decayed smiles and grins. He brushed the stuffing off his chest and put aside the corpse of the toy rabbit. His touch to her cheek was genuine and trembling.

“The toys, why?” She asked again.

“It makes me feel better.” His hand fell back as he sank his head down and looked at the grimy canopy above them. “I suppose…it just reminds me that we are all dolls. That our lives…didn’t matter.”

Ada’s brow furrowed. “But you know now, that’s wrong?”

Vincent closed his mismatched yes and didn’t answer her. Ada gave a small sigh. She leaned over her lover’s legs and fetched the scissors he had used to dismember the rabbit. The metal was still warm from his killing hands.

“I’m not a dolly, Vincent, and neither are you.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. His small grin of incredulity. Ada opened her palm and with a quick strike opened up her hand. She shut her eyes to smother the tears of pain as Vincent cried out.

“Stop! Why would you-?!” He gasped as he grasped her wrists. He sat up and pulled her towards himself. “If I had wanted you hurt I would have-!”

“Cut my head off.” Ada finished succinctly. Vincent glowered at her. It was a really scary look, because it was real. Yet she almost wanted to giggle in happiness. He was _learning_. Ada closed her bleeding hand to encourage it to clot. “I bleed because I’m alive. I am not anyone’s dolly or toy. And you…do the same.”

“No.” Vincent frowned. He took the scissors from her and laid his hand on the night stand. Without ceremony he slammed the scissors into his hand. Ada couldn’t stop a small shriek at the brutality. Vincent absorbed her horror with a small snort. He lifted the blades up and the well of blood appeared. When he raised his hand however Ada could see it had already clotted where as her wound still bled.

“I bleed, but I heal. It doesn’t matter if my stuffing gets ripped out. I won’t die.” Vincent sighed and laid back down, on his side, facing away from her. Ada gave a small groan and stood up to bandage her hand. Vincent could be so childish sometimes!

He was still sulking when she came back to him, in her night gown with her hand bandaged. She laid against his warm back. He ignored her. Ada had always known the monumental task ahead of her. She gave a small hum under her breath.

“All the same,” she whispered into his hair, “Our blood was the same. Was that the blood of a doll to you?”

Vincent rolled back over, his blood red eye peering out across the dim light. He glowered at her but then sighed. His hand, already healed, cupped her head and he kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Do you want me to stop killing the dollies, is that what you want?” he murmured after he moved back.

“I want for you, one day, to not have the need for it.” Ada informed him stalwartly. Vincent gave her a hopelessly confused look. She beamed, and took him into her arms. She rested her head above his immortal heartbeat. “Your life is mine and if you need to be reminded we’re not all dollies, that we all bleed, I’ll bleed.”

Vincent sucked in his breath. He used his weight to push Ada onto her back so he could straddle her. It would not be the first time they had made love but only about the third or so. As it was she was still thrilled to just have him so near to her. Vincent reached for her hand and undid the bandage. He kissed the coalescing blood on her palm. He undid her shift and kissed her breasts. Ada grinded her hips against his and was gratified to feel his erection.

“But is that,” he huskily said, “not also a sharp instrument to pierce you with?” He grinned as Ada stroked him, guided him to between her thighs. Ada giggled as he leaned forward and penetrated her. Their foreplay was often a bloody affair.

“If it pleases you,” she groaned as her back arched at his first thrusts. He clasped his lips overs hers and consumed her screams as he inserted something cold and sharp along with his member. Ada endured the slicing that flayed them both with tears and muffled cries. She had never dreamed of tender caresses, only of aching vindication she was alive.

The blood cleaved to her thighs and buttocks. It made for a heated and slick lubrication. When she reached orgasm Vincent removed the blade to let himself finish. The agony remained even as he alone pierced her. She relished the ache and finished again with him. He would heal, his pain would be over in a night. She however would find walking torturous for weeks. She would need rags to soak up this second pernicious flow. She would need to take medicine to keep away infection and be stringent in her cleaning. It would be torment to even let him lay a finger there for weeks.

It was bliss. To feel him within her even when he was nowhere near. To nurse that secret agony like a child. It was torture of the most sublime kind. Her blood would flow for love.

And as she stroked his hair as he slumbered on her lap, she knew she was no doll to him.


End file.
